


U-Turn

by fulfilled



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fulfilled/pseuds/fulfilled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was worth changing for?  The end of Season 4 through Jess' eyes.</p><p>Originally published March 30, 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 

Jess cranks the music, letting the bass shake the car as he drove away. Funny how the words that were supposed to be the most tender could turn into such a strong impetus for leaving.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, zig zagging his way out of Stars Hollow, subconsciously mimicking Rory's erratic run from minutes earlier. As he drives past the diner and then the ice cream... _shoppe_ , he silently mocks, he can see Taylor's eyes widen and the door open just as he drives past. In his rearview mirror, he sees Taylor standing on the sidewalk, shaking his fist.

Laughing - he knows that Taylor can't see him - Jess turns the music up louder as he exits onto the freeway, but even that doesn't drown out the cadence beating in his head.

I love you. I love you. I love you. Iloveyou. Iloveyou. iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.

Who says that and then just drives away? Who just breathes into the phone, and then hangs up when someone else says it? For that matter, though, who says it to an anonymous presence on the other end of the line? "Only us", he thinks. "Only we are screwed up enough to miss by a mile when it comes to what matters most."

He hears Luke's voice echoing in his head. "Stay away from her, Jess." Well, she found him instead. He hadn't gone looking. That's gotta count for something-earn him some brownie points, right? Technically, not that it mattered any more anyways, he had listened to Luke and taken his advice. And even though he was letting himself off on a technicality, Jess was surprised to discover that it actually mattered. Mattered that he was finally listening to Luke, that is.

"I just thought you should know," he says to the empty car. "You probably don't feel the same way - not anymore - but now you know that I loved you back."

Unbidden, a memory surfaces. A Bible verse that some distant Catholic relative - one of the more traditional Marianos, most likely - had sent on a birthday card, or had on a wall hanging, or something like that. Jess isn't sure where it comes from, but he hears the words as if in a poem.

_Love is patient, love is kind, it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._

"Oh, shut up," he says out loud, letting his voice drown out the litany of ways that he had failed her.

Words he had read and memorized flood back to taunt him, turning his literary obsession into a recitation of failure. Why can't he remember anything other than passages about love? Passages that describe all the ways in which they weren't really in love? All he wants is to think of something that reassures him that he loves her. He came back! That's enough, right? Everyone is always telling him how unreliable he is; how he's the one to leave and break hearts, but this time, he was the one who came back.

The Rory that has been living in his head answers in perfect iambic pentameter, superimposing her voice onto the words of Shakespeare that seem to be rattling around his brain.

_Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair?_  
_Or rather do I not in plainest truth  
_ _Tell you I do not nor I cannot love you_

Great. Now she's rejecting him in his imagination. And she's not finished, he thinks bitterly. Trust the pretend, Bard-spouting Rory to be just as verbose as the real one.

_In companions  
_ _That do converse and waste the time together,  
_ _Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,  
_ _There must be needs a like proportion  
_ _Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit._

"But we are!" he yells. "We do, I mean! I know you! We've got something that you've never had with anyone else. You can't run away from that."

"Yeah, Jess," he mocks himself. "You can't run away from that."

He wants to stay away. He always leaves with every intention of never returning, but she draws him back. Every time, there's something about her that makes him temporarily forget how much he hates the town, and he comes back. Again.

He slams his hand on the steering wheel, becoming increasingly angry with himself. "I love her. I don't need her to love me back. I stopped needing her a long time ago. And now..." he pauses, realizing that his voice is getting louder and louder in the small car, "now I'm talking to myself. The craziness in that town is contagious."

Jess clamps his mouth shut, continuing his argument with himself in his head. "Fine, Luke. I'll stay away. That's what you and everyone else in that town think I should do? Well, that's what I'll do. Princess Rory doesn't need a screw-up like me loving her, anyways, right? Right. You've all been right all along. She needs someone better."

The wave of courage that Jess had been riding on ever since he blurted out those three words comes crashing down, and he finds himself at the bottom of the emotional roller coaster, drained and empty yet again. In its place lies only a deeper, more acute awareness of the loneliness that has plagued him ever since he left Stars Hollow for good.

Jess drives the rest of the way back to New York in a foul mood, cursing everything that dares to cross his path-the rain that slows his progress on the highway, the tour bus that cuts him off, the bird that flies too close to his windshield, the radio station that melts into static in the middle of a good song, the astronomical charges at the parking garage. Nothing is safe from the ire of Jess Mariano tonight, and by the time he arrives home, all he wants to do is forget.

He stumbles into the apartment, cracks open a beer, and sits on his filthy mattress, downing one beer after another until, finally, he's sated enough to sleep. And in the drunken oblivion of the half-conscious, his mind can still only wrap itself around one thought. One face.


	2. One: Long Shot

Of course Rory is the reason that Jess isn't going back. Did Luke really think that there was another reason? How can he face her, knowing, even if she doesn't, that she's the one who reduced the unflappable Jess Mariano to a drunken mess of angry tears? No, Jess still has his pride, and Liz' wedding or not, there's no reason to go back. Family obligation? With the characters he's lucky enough to be related to, that's nothing but a joke.

Still, he can't believe that Luke came, just to convince him to show up. Luke hates New York. Always has, always will. Avoids the city at all costs. Gets in a bad mood for days before a planned trip to meet with a supplier or take care of some diner business.

Out of curiousity-and since he's already leaving the apartment and, incidentally, heading the same direction as Luke-Jess follows a block or so behind Luke, keeping one eye on the blue baseball cap bobbing through the crowd. He's not sure why this is so important to him, but he just needs to know. Did Luke come alone? Did Liz put him up to it? TJ (although that would require more forethought and sensitivity than Jess thinks he possesses)? More importantly, is this combined with some sort of diner business or a meeting of some sort, or did Luke come just to talk to him?

Luke stops at a payphone, and thanks to Luke's incredible oblivion, Jess somehow manages to get in close enough to hear, standing in the facing booth, pretending to make his own call. "Still don't know why I'm crazy enough to do this," he thinks, but then again, this is New York. Even if someone who lived nearby recognized him, this is the city where anything goes. Even a leather-jacket-clad hoodlum following his plaid-flannel-wearing uncle, listening in on his phone call.

Luke plugs in the coins and makes the call. "Lane, it's Luke. Did the order come in?"

Jess shifts from foot to foot. Diner business. Of course. What did he think that Luke was going to do, anyways-run down the street in tears because Jess wouldn't come home? No, knowing Luke, he would more likely stalk down the street cursing everything in sight and cursing Jess doubly for being the what brought him to the city in the first place.

"Yes, Lane, I know that you know how to receive an order. It's not you I'm worried about, it's them. I've had some problems with this supplier the past few times they've sent something, and I just needed to know if I have to call them and kick someone's ass before their offices close." Luke laughs, more of a smirk with sound than full-out laughter. "Okay, thanks, Lane."

He pulls the receiver away from his ear, then scowls slightly at some other sound coming from the headset and replaces it, listening again.

"What are you doing on the diner phone?" Luke sighs and leans against the wall of the phone booth. "There's always coffee there. You don't need me to pour it for you."

Jess hides a grin. So now Lorelai is seeking Luke out even when he's out of town?

"Yes. It's always the same, even if Caesar makes it... Fine. If you don't like the way he makes it, then get Lane to do it for you... Later tonight. Lane and Caesar are closing for me."

Jess smirks. She's getting to Luke. Anyone else would have heard the dial tone in their ear long before now.

"New York." Luke's voice drops. "Jess... No, he's not. Dumb punk isn't planning to show up."

If he listens hard enough, Jess can hear Lorelai's indignant response. If nothing else, he can imagine, word for word, what's she's saying.

"She does. Wants him to walk her down the aisle... Of course I did, but it's her day, and she wants him to do it."

Luke is silent, and somehow, Jess knows that it's not only because Lorelai won't shut up. This is a different silence than the tolerant, slightly soft silence of indulging her non-stop babbling.

"Nah, she doesn't know. She knew it was a long shot. So did I, but stupid me had to try again. Shoulda known that it wouldn't do any good. He'd kill me if I ever said it out loud, but I want him there, too. She's finally starting to get it together - I just wish he'd be there to see it... Right. What do you think? You ever tried to reason with Jess? Convince him to do something he doesn't want to do? Damn near impossible. He's stubborn. He'll stay away just because we want him to come back. That's just the way he is. Kid should have some respect, but that would be asking far too much of him."

Luke's starting to become uncomfortable with this conversation. _Jess_  is starting to get uncomfortable. Since when is Luke so forthcoming with his feelings? Since when does he talk on the phone for so long? This is Luke, though, and there is, of course, a limit to what he can take.

"Look, Lorelai, as much as I'd love to keep discussing my rebellious nephew with you, my time is almost up, and I'm not wasting another quarter on this... Yes, tomorrow. I'll be the one with the coffee... Now, would you please get off my diner phone?"

Luke hangs up without saying goodbye and continues walking down the street, but this time, Jess doesn't follow. Instead, he steps into the booth that Luke has just vacated. Picks up the phone. Inserts a quarter. Dials.

"Adam? It's Jess. I need to book a couple of days off."


	3. Two: Sudden Heart-to-Heart

"Read." His opinion of the man is growing dimmer by the second. Read. What is he—in second grade? Seriously. Who gives a verb as a nickname? TJ, apparently, that's who. Jess would be surprised if he even knows the difference between an adjective and a verb.

The truck is deathly silent as they drive back to Stars Hollow. Jess can see Luke's jaw muscles working, a sure sign that Luke is upset—beyond upset, actually—and is trying to control himself. Jess is already plastered as close to the passenger side door as he can get. If he moves any further, he'll fall out. Which, given the atmosphere, might not be such a bad idea.

He pulls out his book, which he had managed, barely, to rescue from the fray at the strip club, and begins to read. Tries to read, at least. The silence in the cab is too thick, too deafening to concentrate, though.

For someone so taciturn and sparse with his words, Jess hates silence. He can ignore and tune out yelling, lectures, background noise, taunting, and just about anything else, but he's never been good at being on the receiving end of the silent treatment. Everything else indicates life, a spark, but silence is dead. Silence gives up.

Jess stares at the book, glowering, turning pages after an appropriate amount of time passes. He'll have to go back and read this again later, but he needs something to do, and staring gloomily out the window is just too melodramatic.

Read. He still can't get over the idiocy of it. Even the kids in every elementary school he was dumped in had come up with better insults than that, even though none of the childish nicknames ever stuck. Of course, that was probably due to the fact that anyone who mocked Jess' love of books usually ended up with at least one black eye, and sometimes a broken nose, too. Being slugged by a bookworm usually threw the bullies off so much that Jess had an unfair advantage, at least for the first few punches.

Still, most of them never messed with him again. No matter how many schools he went to, within a few weeks his reputation as a loner was firmly established and grudgingly accepted. Respected, even. He beat up the biggest threats, and the rest left him alone.

Liz never cared, either, which was the beauty of the whole plan. No matter how many notes and phone calls went home, she never dealt with them, leaving Jess to deal with his issues at school in peace, and he fell into his own rhythm, doing his work quickly and usually accurately, going back to his books as soon as possible. Even as a good student, he never had to worry about his reputation, because "Jess the Bad-Ass" had already been firmly established, and no one would dare challenge his mind or his fists.

"What were some of those nicknames?" he thinks, mentally compiling a list. Four-eyes, which was, of course, beyond ridiculous, and had earned the bright young lad who had thought it up two black eyes. Fruitcake. Fruitcup. Teacher's Pet. Sir Read-A-Lot. Dumbo, because apparently being academic is equated with being an elephant? Or maybe someone was (unsuccessfully) going for irony there. Big Brains. Nothing too original; still, he should compile a list and give it to TJ. He can brush up on his insults for next time.

Jess turns a page in the book and glances at Luke, who's still staring straight out the window. The jaw has stopped twitching, Jess notes, but Luke still isn't saying anything, and the silence isn't any less threatening. If anything, it's grown, filling the truck until Jess wonders if it looks like a balloon from the outside.

Luke seems to feel Jess' eyes and takes his eyes away from the road to look at Jess for the first time since they got in the truck. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then shakes his head and clenches his jaw again, looking away. The silence grows even more oppressive, unbroken even by movement, let alone sound. Jess feels like he's suffocating, but he's not going to be the first to crack. He's overcome everything that has ever come his way, and he's done on his own—a quiet ride home isn't going to be what breaks him.

They pull up in front of the diner, and Luke gives Jess a look that clearly tells him to not even think about ditching. Jess sighs and pulls down a chair, doing his best to look like a chastised little boy awaiting his punishment, and he's not disappointed.

"Tonight I got into a fight. With my nephew. In a strip club."

Jess grins inwardly. This is better. He can handle this. Let Luke rant, and Jess can tune it out and finally think about something besides the colossal disappointment he seems to be lately.

He listens to Luke with one ear, hearing what he's saying, but mostly relaxing into the comfortable familiarity of the lecture. The silence has been broken; this, he can deal with.

"Doodyhead," he hears Luke say, and thinks that even that's better than "Read," He adds it to the list to give to TJ.

Luke sits down. "But, I mean, if you really hate your mother that much, then you shouldn't be here, you shouldn't walk her down the aisle, and you shouldn't go to her wedding."

"I don't hate my mother," Jess blurts without taking the time to think about what he's saying.

Luke is, apparently, taken back by this revelation. "You don't? Well, then, I don't get it. Why weren't you coming - because of me? You hate me that much?" It's said as a defense, but Jess can see an undertone of hurt in Luke's eyes, something that says that Jess' opinion of Luke actually matters.

"And suddenly," he thinks, "we're having a heart-to-heart." Oddly, though, he doesn't balk at the idea the way he usually would, surprising himself. Yes, Luke has been acting strangely and spouting off this nonsense about being at peace and all that junk, but something about him really seems to be changing. Even the fact that he seems to really be listening, wanting to hear what Jess has to say, looking at him intently, is different.

Well, if Luke can change, so can Jess, and he'll start by indulging this little chat, sans most, but not quite all, of his usual eye-rolls and smart remarks.

"I don't hate you. I came here because of you."


	4. Three: Oddly Liberating

Jess still can't get over the look on Luke's face the night before.  _"You really told her you love her. Huh."_  Disbelief, yes, but rather than the protective indignation he had been expecting, the lingering impression was pride. Pride, and a hint of admiration stamped across Luke's face and filling his eyes. Pride in his nephew's rejection? No—at his bravery. Stupidity. Risk-taking. Whatever. Doesn't change the fact that it was anything but the reaction Jess had anticipated.

And then the books? Jess has read a lot of books in his lifetime, made a lot of notes in a lot of margins, but thus far, none of them have come equipped with ready-to-answer "Questions for Discussion and Reflection." He hates books that tell you what to think, that lay out the important points in questions reminiscent of an assignment for a freshman English class. He would rather come to his own conclusions, mapping out the themes and subtleties of the words in his scribbled observations. These books that come complete with tapes and a separate workbook are just too anti-literature for him.

Still, he's reading it. He's not sure why he picked it up, let alone why he's reading it in the middle of the town square. Even though the book is well-hidden, he knows that all it would take would be one misplaced page, and it would all be over. He doesn't really care, though, and that that realization is oddly liberating.

Besides, apart from the warm weather (which he's actually enjoying, although he would slug anyone who pointed it out), there are at least two other advantages to sitting here. By placing himself squarely in the middle of Stars Hollow, in full view of everyone, he gives himself an alibi for anything that Taylor might try to pin on him, and he not-so-subtly announces his presence, avoiding any unwanted surprise encounters. Skulking is getting old, anyways.

He turns his attention back to the book, trying his hardest to take the advice seriously, but from the first paragraph, he's having a hard time keeping a straight face, and before he even turns the page, he involuntarily laughs out loud, drawing curious glances from Kirk, who has been pestering Miss Patty for at least twenty minutes, and Grog Girl Annie, who's helping to Ren-nify the town for the wedding. Jess, sitting in the sunshine, in full view of the town, laughing? He must be up to something.

"So this is where Luke has been getting all of this 'my friend Phil' junk from," he thinks. This is all becoming more and more surreal, especially when he looks in the general direction of the diner and sees Luke working with a grin on his face. A grin. Even though he's hunting down wheat stalks, cooking turkey legs, and trying to deal with Taylor, all at the same time. Something's up, and Jess isn't sure what he thinks of this new Luke. It's just… weird, for lack of a better word.

Liz enters the diner, and through the window, Jess watches her greet Luke, and Luke, despite his obviously growing irritation with the turkey legs, comes around the counter and gives her a one-armed hug.

This is what Jess is having the hardest thing wrapping his mind around. He would understand if all of this—the self-help books, the good attitude, the "peace"—was so that he could finally make a move on Lorelai. If that was all this was about, Jess would applaud him, despite his own rocky relationship with her. Anyone with eyes can see that it's about time, and Jess is pretty sure that Luke has got something planned when it comes to Lorelai.

What he doesn't get is how—and why—all this goodwill is spilling over onto Liz. She's been nothing but irresponsible for as long as he can remember, and he knows for a fact that Luke has, more than once, borne the brunt of those choices. Every time Liz' life has fallen apart, Luke has stepped in to pick up the pieces, from bailing her out of jail to loaning her rent money to raising her teenage son.

And somehow, despite all that, Jess is in Stars Hollow because Luke is being Liz' champion once again—trying his best to accept TJ, hunting Jess down in New York to keep Liz from being disappointed on her wedding day, taking care of the details that Liz can't manage on her own.

Jess looks down at the page again, willing the book to give him the answers—even willing it to be as funny as he found it only a few minutes before—but all he sees is another dumb anecdote about Phil and a list of questions that he's not even going to pretend to be interested in. This isn't helping. He's tempted to abandon the book and stick with the "Punk World" that's hiding it, but just as he's ready to make the switch, Lorelai walks by, and he definitely can't bring himself to risk taking the book out where she can see it.

He does, however, meet her eyes as she walks past, searching for… what? A truce? A challenge? An acknowledgement? Jess isn't sure, but he refuses to be the first one to break eye contact. Not that it matters—he doesn't see anything worth looking for. The only thing this encounter leaves him with is no doubt, as if there was any to begin with, that Rory will be well-warned to stay away for as long as Jess is in town. After the last time he saw her, though, he wouldn't have expected her to be overjoyed to see him anyways, so Lorelai's warnings are probably for the best, he thinks.

He sighs, snapping both the book and the magazine shut. It's not doing him any good, and the maypole dancers, not to mention Kirk, are getting on his nerves. Besides, he can only take so much happiness and town frivolity at one time, and he still hasn't had the conversation that he's been intending to have with Liz.

Jess tucks the book inside the magazine, stuffs both of them into his jacket pocket, and heads towards the diner. Luke is still in his unnaturally good mood, teasing Liz about the number of legless turkeys flopping around the tri-state area. They both look up as the bell jingles, and Liz rushes to meet Jess halfway between the door and the counter.

"There he is!" she exclaims, trying to wrap an arm around him. He slides out of her hug, eyes glued to the floor, muttering something about personal space.

Before he can think about it too much and talk himself out of it, he looks straight at Liz and takes a deep breath. "I, uh… I'll walk you down the aisle. If you still want me to."

He may have wormed his way out of a hug before, but this time, there's no escaping Liz' joy as she wraps both arms around Jess and then holds onto him at arm's length, one hand on his cheek, tears welling up in her eyes.

"You hear that, Luke? My baby boy's gonna walk me down the aisle."

Jess holds her gaze for as long as he can, and then backs away, uncomfortable with her eyes still on him, looking at him like she's seeing him for the first time. He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like Luke's trademark, "Aw, geez," and turns away from her, focusing on a spot on the countertop. When he looks up again, he catches Luke's eye and finds that, instead of "Aw geez"-ing, Luke's head is cocked slightly, and he's looking intently at Jess with a half smile on his face.

Liz swipes a finger under her eyes and jumps up from where she's leaning against the counter, as if she's waking up from a dream. "This is amazing! I've got to go tell TJ. Don't burn my turkey legs, Luke," she calls over her shoulder, almost bouncing out of the diner.

The awkward family moment broken, Luke turns away and busies himself with the coffeemaker while Jess stands up and tugs on his jacket slightly self-consciously. "I'm going upstairs," Jess says, crossing the diner in four big steps and pushing aside the curtain. He's halfway around the corner before Luke calls him back.

"Jess?"

He leans back into the diner, poking just his head around the corner. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Jess bobs his head in a half-nod of acknowledgement and takes the stairs to the apartment two at a time. Once inside, he reaches into the dark corner between his bed and the wall, pulls out a backpack, and takes a stack of papers from inside.

Without looking at them, he walks to the chair in front of the TV, sits down, and turns the TV on. The papers are sitting on his lap, unnoticed, for nearly one full mid-day re-run of "Who's the Boss" before Jess even picks them up again, and he spends the first thirty minutes of "Oprah" staring alternately at the papers in his hand and the pictures on the screen in front of him. Finally, he picks up the remote and clicks off the TV, then picks up a pen and begins to write.

"Name; Jess Mariano," he says under his breath, unconsciously, and very uncharacteristically, speaking each word as he writes it. "Date of birth; April 28, 1984. Program and faculty applying for; Certificate in Publishing, NYU School of Continuing and Professional Studies."


	5. Four: De-guttin'!

He didn't know that his mother (how long had it been since he had thought of her that way?) had it in her to look radiant. Here she is, though, a Juliet coming for her Romeo, unhindered by stars and fate, beaming at her "three guys." Luke, finally sitting beside Lorelai, where he belongs; TJ, shutting up for the first time all day about his "air pants," eyes fixated on her; and Jess, letting himself give in, just a little, to his secret, childlike, long-buried hope that his mother might finally be happy.

Yeah, this could be good. TJ may not be the brightest, most romantic, most practical man out there, but at least this wedding is a celebration. The other ones were… Jess doesn't even know how to describe them. A sidelong comment as he ran out the door to school.  _"By the way, Jess, we got married at City Hall yesterday."_  A drunk couple stumbling in through the front door, trying to get inside without falling down.  _"I doooooooo!" The door banged. Laughter, voices, a key ring falling to the ground, a neighboring apartment door opening and a voice yelling at them to shut up. A hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake (as if their breath wouldn't have woken him if he hadn't only been pretending, anyways) from his cocoon on the couch in front of the TV. "You've got a new daddy, Jess!_ "

Celebrations? Hardly. Black mark on the family name is more like it. Nothing serious, sacred, romantic, or lasting. No, those weddings were just pit stops on the road to a breakdown. This one, though… This is the first time she's actually planned something, invited Luke, chosen people to celebrate with. They may be weird, but Jess is beginning to realize that his mother finally has the family she never acknowledged before.

She reaches the end of the aisle where he's standing, and through it all, he's kept his patented Jess-smirk on his face, not yet ready for softness, but there's a part of him that could, if he'd let it, be touched by the happiness of the day. Lately, he has begun to feel towards Liz what he imagines that Luke has felt towards him over the past three years: a quiet desperation that she will make the right choices, an unspoken, staunch belief in her ability to do something good with her life, a fierce pride in the little ways that he sees her change, and an undying hope that somehow, despite everything, she'll turn out okay.

When did the roles of parent and child begin to reverse themselves?

She steps off her carriage and takes his arm, beaming. The guests stand, and Jess can't decide whether he should feel threatened or welcome. Despite the significant percentage of Ren Faire freaks, Stars Hollow's population is liberally represented, and although Jess feels like a prisoner walking through an accusing crowd to his execution, they're not pointing fingers or throwing things. In fact, they're smiling.

He holds his hand awkwardly in mid-air as they take their first few steps down the aisle. "Get a grip, Mariano. Relax. Okay. Arm. Offer it to her. And now you look like an idiot," he berates himself silently. "Do something with your hand." He settles on tucking in, resting it on his chest. "Okay. Less of an idiot. Now. Find somewhere to look. It's not a long walk."

Scan the crowd? No. It's not his wedding day-he doesn't need to beam at the teary faces of every guest. Look at the front? No. TJ and his brother. Definitely don't need to make meaningful eye contact with either of them. Look at his feet? Best option yet, but for all his complaining, he's really not trying to be sullen today, and this, if anything, requires any effort he'll give. Eye contact with Luke? Good, but Luke's giving Liz a wink, and... looking past Liz, meeting Jess' eye, giving him a small half-smile.

And they've made it all the way down the aisle. Huh. That wasn't so bad. Didn't take that long. Liz kisses Jess' cheek, and the five-year-old in him instinctively tries to draws back.

"Try harder," he mutters to himself, holding his muscles in check, keeping them from the involuntary flinch he feels. Liz beams, TJ gives his version of a tender, yet manly, moment, and Jess moves to his seat in the front row, directly in front of Lorelai and Luke. Only then does he give in to the overwhelming urge to wipe his face, but as he raises his hand to his cheek, his own childish voice fills his head, and he sees his tiny face glower in a not-yet-perfected version of his patented scowl.

_Ewwww! I've got cooties! Girl germs! Mommy, that's de-guttin! I'm wiping off your slobbery kisses right now." A small fist scrubbed the skin on the cheek and the big brown eyes crossed in an effort to look as closely at said cheek as possible._

_"You can never scrub off my kisses, J. They're stuck on there for good." She leaned in closer, beckoning him with one finger. "Can I tell you a secret, J?"_

_He shook his head, an unruly mop of curls flopping from side to side, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him in, tickling his ribs. He kicked and tickled back, and they fell to the floor in a heap of little-boy limbs and mommy-hugs. When he caught his breath, he propped himself up on a small, slightly skinned elbow. "What's the secret?"_

_She leaned down to eye level and whispered, "Mommy-kisses are the strongest kisses ever. You can never wipe them off, because even when you try, all you're doing is rubbing them in deeper."_

Jess slowly takes his hand away from his cheek. He hasn't thought about that day in years. It must have lodged itself deep inside his mind, though, because one more memory surfaces in vivid detail. That day, Liz' breath smelled like it does today-slightly minty, very faintly of tea, and clean. Those two mommy-kisses have been two of the very few that Jess can ever remember being untainted by beer or cigarettes or pot or something else that took his mommy away from him.

He's surprised to feel a tightening behind his eyes and a choking in his throat, sensations that haven't hit him in years, especially when it relates to Liz. He stopped letting himself cry because of her when she stopped giving him the mommy-kisses that he used to love, despite the cheek-rubbing and squeals of protest.

Thankfully, though, before he can embarrass himself in front of the entire town, the minstrel comes strolling in with his guitar, and, like a bunch of junior high girls who just keep laughing at the fact that they're laughing so hard over nothing, Jess, Luke, and Lorelai are lost. Every time he hears them try to stifle their laughter, it makes it harder for him to keep a straight face, and when Lorelai starts listing calamities, it's all Jess can do to keep from turning around and whispering, "Dead puppies. A dead deer in the middle of the road. Beheaded Barbie dolls." This definitely has the potential for a great game of one-upmanship. Lorelai's wit, Luke's pessimism, and Jess' cynicism? They could be here all afternoon.

And this celebrates the life that Jess' mom and his "new dad" are beginning? For once, he's thankful she didn't find herself and settle down when he was a kid—he's not sure which would have been worse; having the pseudo-dad figures that marched in and out of the house, or having TJ and his etch-a-sketch around permanently. He probably would have moved in with Luke a lot sooner, and of his own volition, in that case.

But Liz is speaking, reciting her vows, looking at TJ with eyes that Jess has never seen in her face before. "My heart just pours out to you. You have been so good to me and for me. I don't know where I'd be without you. I'd be worse off, I know that. You're something else."

And even though he still has the image to keep up and he can't actually let himself react, with that, Jess somehow knows that this will be a good thing.


	6. Five: Ghosts

Jess swings his canvas bag over his shoulder and exits the apartment, letting a small smile cross his face now that Luke can't see him any more. He shuts the door softly behind himself in a marked departure from the resounding slams that usually characterized his exits when he lived there.

He's getting soft in his old age, but this, he realizes, isn't such a bad way to leave town—contact information readily available, goodbyes said, no one chasing him out with pitchforks. Except for maybe Taylor, when he opens the store in the morning and realizes that the "weekly specials" signs have all been turned upside down. What can he say—change takes time. No one expects him to change overnight, do they?

Jess walks down the stairs, taking them one at a time, pushes aside the curtain and steps into the empty diner. A lingering scent of coffee and French fries hits him, and he stops, standing in a silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. Everything seems to be ready-waiting for morning, when Stars Hollow-beginning with Kirk-would descend upon Luke's once again. The silver napkin dispensers glint in the glow from the streetlights, and Jess notices that they're not quite full. Sugars, ketchups, salt and pepper shakers are all half-empty, too. That's not like Luke, but it's been a busy week.

Jess drops his bag on the floor by the door and steps behind the counter, not bothering to turn on a light. Pulling out a bag of sugar and a box of salt, he goes to work, silently and in the dark, efficiently filling in the missing pieces that have fallen by the wayside in the busyness of the past few days.

As he works, the room fills with ghosts—images that seem close enough to reach out and touch; voices real enough to answer. Caesar rings the bell, calling out Kirk's order. Kirk is taking up an entire table with paperwork outlining his latest "business venture," and Lane is trying to convince him to move before Luke sees him. Taylor comes storming in, protesting the lack of bright, festive decorations for some holiday or another, and a swarm of high school kids overtakes half the diner, pushing tables together and then ordering only sodas.

Jess blinks twice when Dean walks past outside, glaring at him through the large plate-glass window. Real, or a part of this bizarre "This is Your Life" moment that Jess seems to be having? With another blink, Dean fades, along with all the other characters in Jess' well-populated mental diner, and he's left filling salt shakers in the dark once again.

The empty room is peaceful (this emptiness that's filled with warmth and memory), and Jess finds that it feels less like loneliness and more like a very friendly haunting. By people who are all very much alive. "That's not a haunting," he thinks, "that's craziness."

He finishes filling the salt shakers and reaches under the counter for the industrial-sized package of napkins. Methodically, he stuffs them into the metal boxes, then replaces the dispensers on each table, moving quietly around the room.

He finishes restocking everything that Luke hadn't gotten around to, puts the containers back beneath the counter, prepares each table for morning. Grabs the notebook that Luke keeps beside the cash register for notes to himself—reminders of things he needs to order, suppliers' phone numbers, phone messages, warranty information, customers' special orders. Flips it open to a blank page at the back, fully intending to scribble a quick note for Luke and leave it on the counter.

Instead, faced with a blank page, a pen, and his thoughts, Jess pulls a stool off the counter, sinks onto it, and rests his head on his hands, elbows on the counter. Begins to write.

"Every time, I wanted to say goodbye. No. That's a lie. I wanted to never have to say goodbye, so I never did. Selfish. I wanted—didn't want—wanted—didn't want you to convince me not to go. Too afraid of which you would choose, so I took away the option."

Staring at the dark kitchen, he can almost hear the bell above the door ring behind him, hear them come in, laughing, demanding coffee and danishes. She leans over the counter to give him a kiss, switches out the book in his pocket, motions him upstairs, feeds him a bite of her donut. As quickly as she's there, she fades, then reappears at a table in the corner, painfully—obviously—avoids his glance, deep in conversation with Lorelai, and then with Lane. Glances furtively in his direction every now and then, casts a small smile over her shoulder on her way out, chases him into the apartment, demands an explanation, lets him walk away.

His pen keeps moving. "I wanted to be everything you expected of me, but I didn't know how. Don't know how. Wasn't willing to learn. Am I now?"

This—the ghosts, the memories—is why he can't stay in Stars Hollow. He may always have a place here, and he knows that Luke has been and always will be the most stable thing in his life, but this place is, at best, transitory. It's a waystation, a refuelling point between the legs of the journey, but it's not home. It can't be home anymore.

Jess tears the page out of the notebook and stuffs it into his back pocket. He needs to get out of here. He stands, flips the stool back onto the counter, and leans against it while he scrawls a note.

"Luke: Man, you need better help around here! Thanks again for ev—"

"Jess?" He ignores it, chalking the voice up to whatever it's been that has been giving him his virtual tour of all Stars Hollow's residents. It persists, though. "Jess?" This time with a hand on his shoulder.

He jumps. It's Luke, dress shirt untucked, top buttons undone, tie loose.

"Hey."

"What are you still doing here?"

"Your napkins needed to be refilled."

Luke glances around the diner, taking in the full condiments and the half-finished note. "So you just…"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Luke is at a loss for words, it seems.

"I was just on my way out." Jess moves to open the door, leaving the notebook open and the pen uncapped on the counter.

"Well." It's awkward—neither one knows what to say. Luke settles on, "Thanks. Saves me some time in the morning." He reaches out and clasps Jess on the shoulder. "Drive safe."

This time, Jess initiates the hug, reaching in and grabbing onto Luke like his life depends (like his sanity depends) on this solid reality in front of him. If Jess was shorter, he would have wrapped his arms around Luke's; as it is, he rests his forehead on Luke's shoulder and finds his fist clutching a handful of the fabric of Luke's shirt. Luke's arms tighten, and a hand reaches up to Jess' neck, cupping his head, holding him tightly across the shoulders. When they step back, both men's eyes are suspiciously full.

Jess clears his throat and reaches for the door handle, picking up his bag with his other hand.

"Hey." Luke's voice stops him one more time. Jess turns. "You're going to be alright." Jess smiles, opens the door, and exits the diner silently, save for the jingling door chime that echoes across the square.


	7. Epilogue

Jess pulls away from the diner and out of Stars Hollow, cranking the music and tapping his fingers against the wheel. He can't believe it's been so long since he's been in town, and while he won't go so far as to say that he's actually missed it, he will admit that spending the evening at the diner with Luke hasn't been the worst thing.

"Spending the evening with Luke." It makes it sound like they had been doing some serious bonding, when in reality, they had barely exchanged more than fifteen minutes' worth of conversation in the three hours that Jess had been there. Instead, Jess had walked in and had immediately gone behind the counter, donning an apron and manning the grill, slipping back into the familiar rhythm with ease.

Luke hadn't asked any questions, and Jess hadn't offered any explanations, beyond, "I'm on the road for a couple of weeks—for business—, and it's been a while since I had a good meal."

Jess passes the sign. "Thank You for Visiting Stars Hollow." Ah, the possibilities for vandalism—it takes him back to his youth. As if those days are so long gone. It's tempting, but he doesn't have any spray paint in the car. Besides, he's not coming to Stars Hollow for the same reasons anymore. These days, he breezes in and out, visiting Luke and, occasionally, Liz and TJ, but even that doesn't happen often. Instead, when he was in New York, they'd usually meet halfway for dinner, and since moving, he hasn't seen any of them at all.

This time, it just happened to work out with his book. He's been canvassing every small town, every independent bookstore, and the Black, White, and Read is on his list. Andrew had been one of the few that he had actually gotten along with when he lived in Stars Hollow, anyways, and it had been too long since he'd seen Luke, so it all works out.

_It was a Wednesday night, Jess' last night in New York, and he was sitting in Cedar, the small, dark bar on University Place, just below Union Square, that had become his home away from home over the past eight months. That night, he was there alone, laptop open in front of him, two notebooks colourful with post-it notes spread over the table, nursing the same beer and plate of fries that had been there for the past two hours. He knew that a bar wasn't usually the laptop scene, but at 9:00 on a weeknight, it was actually just quiet enough to concentrate and just loud enough to give him a kind of cocoon, enfolding him in the noise, keeping him from distractions._

He looks in the rearview mirror, the tops of the boxes of books slightly blocking his view. When the books came, he pulled out a copy and read all the way through it, even though he knew exactly what it would say. He told himself that it was because he wanted to check the editing, but a part of him just needed to see the finished product to believe that it was real. You would think that the agonizing work of writing a book would be proof enough, but Jess is too used to fighting for something with no results. It's not the fight he has trouble believing; it's the result.

_It was finally finished. Two months into his one-year publishing certificate, he had let himself be talked into coming out for a beer with some of the guys in his "The Industry of Publishing: How to Start, Sustain, and Build a Small Press" class, and somehow, three hours later, he had told them about the novel he was writing. One of the guys had told him about the small, experimental press his friends were starting in Philly, and Jess had been talked into sending them a draft. The manuscript had gone off the following week, and now, eight months later—eight months of late nights, juggling work, class, and writing; edited drafts and proposed changes of the novel being sent back and forth on a weekly basis; almost-weekly emails between Jess and the guys in Philly—Jess was getting ready to follow it. The final draft of the book, sent only a few weeks earlier, had included a job offer, and New York didn't have as much to offer anymore, so Jess had accepted._

_The screen went dark for a moment before the screensaver popped up, pulling Jess back to the dim bar, back to his final challenge. The dedication. The last words the publishers needed before it could go to print._

The highway between Stars Hollow and Hartford is fairly familiar, although the billboards have changed and a few of the landmarks have disappeared since the last time he drove this road. The music keeps him alert, and his mind is racing, wondering what's going to be awaiting him when he pulls into the driveway. He tries to prepare himself for anything, but there's just no way to know what to expect.

He had waited until Luke had closed up the diner and was cleaning up to ask about Rory. "I tried calling her old cell number, but it was disconnected."

"Jess…" Luke's tone had been wary.

"No, it's nothing like that. I just have something for her."

"Well, why don't you just leave it with me, and Lorelai can give…" Luke's voice had trailed off, and Jess had seen a shadow cross his eyes before he sighed and turned another chair onto the table. Jess had just waited—pushing wouldn't get him anything, he knew. Finally, Luke had spoken, without turning to face Jess. "She's living in Hartford right now—staying in her grandparents' pool house."

Jess had let the comment slide and checked his watch instead. 10:07. If he left right away, he'd be there well before 11:00. "Do you know whether she has class in the morning? Is it too late for me to stop by now?"

Luke had finally stopped putting the chairs up and had turned to face Jess, his eyes pained. "Jess…" he said again, his voice begging reconsideration, but Jess had held his gaze, refusing to back down. "Things are… complicated right now. Rory's having a hard time, I guess, and she hasn't talked to Lorelai in months."

And all the reasons for the strain that Jess had been seeing on Luke's face had fallen into place. Even now, half an hour later, reaching the Hartford city limits and winding his way through the darkened residential streets, Jess can't imagine what would bring things to this point. He does realize, though, that this has got to be hard on all of them, and clearly, Luke is bearing much of the burden, even if the women don't realize it.

He follows the directions scribbled on the napkin that Luke gave him on his way out of the diner and pulls into the circular driveway, driving around to the pool house. Both it and the main house are dark, though, and he doesn't see Rory's car—at least, the last car he remembers her driving—in the driveway, but he walks up to the pool house door anyways and knocks. No answer. He peers in through a window, but there's no movement, only stacks of boxes. She's either still out or already asleep, but Jess is guessing that she's still out, so he'll wait. He's got nothing better to do.

While he waits, he pulls one copy of the book out of a box and tucks it into his bag. It's a gift—one sacrificed copy that won't make it into a bookstore—and for the first time, it's pristine. The spine hasn't been broken, his handwriting doesn't mark up the margins, no pages have been dog-eared or bookmarked. For once, he doesn't have to put himself into it, because it's all him. For her, he knows that he'll be alive on every page, and she'll see more of who he's become than she ever did in the comments or the books that they shared before.

_The book itself had just flowed, a story hidden deep inside that demanded to be written. Was it work? Absolutely. Was it hard work? The hardest work that Jess had ever set himself to. And yet, it was there, and it had refused to be given up on._

_The dedication was what he was ready to scrap the whole thing over. How could he sum it all up in a few words? How could he wrap the book, and everything it represented, into a neat little package and tie it up with a bow made of words, ready to be given to only one person?_

_He had tried over and over, deleting the words almost as soon as they hit the screen._

_"To Liz, for turning around at the same time I did." Stretched the truth of their relationship a little too much. They were getting better, but they definitely weren't there yet._

_"To Luke, for everything." Way too generic. Too clichéd._

_"To Liz, for giving me life." Too sappy and sentimental. Too far back, and, by now, almost overshadowed._

_"To Jimmy, for getting 'dad' out of my system." Too depressing, and not worth the words._

_"To Stars Hollow, for…" There weren't even words._

_"To the snowman, Pierpont, and the corpse on the sidewalk, for being a release from small-town boredom."_

_"To the swan, for good first impressions."_

_"To Shane, for the employee discount on hair products."_

_Somehow, writing down the ridiculous had helped get it out of his system, stopped him from taking himself so seriously, and let him focus._

_"To Luke, for kicking my ass, pushing me into the lake, and still giving me a roof over my head at the end of the day."_

_That was closer, but it wasn't there yet. Truth be told, Luke's ass-kickings hadn't accomplished anything until he had a reason to let them, and finally, Jess had the clarity and perspective to see the impact that Rory's presence had on his life all those years ago. It didn't matter what they were now, or what they would ever become—it would always be her influence that had pushed him, and that was a greater gift than he could thank her for._

Headlight beams swing across the yard, blinding Jess momentarily, and when the spots fade from his vision, he checks his watch. 12:36. The car turns the other way around the circular driveway, ending up on the other side of the gate from where he's parked. He opens his door, picks up his messenger bag and slings it over his shoulder, and walks as quietly as possible to the gate, remaining in the shadows cast by the carefully shaped foliage.

The driver kills the engine, and the car sits, lifeless, for a moment before the door opens and she steps out, somehow the same, and yet even from this distance, he can see the difference in her face—the fatigue, the strain, the loneliness. Especially the loneliness. She's still Rory, though, and he's happier to see her than he thought he would be. Maybe he missed her? Or maybe he just wants her to see the new Jess—the better, more mature version of himself.

_He sighed, drained the last few swallows of his beer, and poised his fingers over the keyboard._

_"To Luke, for never losing sight of who I could be, and to Rory," he typed, "for being the reason I needed. For more than either of you know, and more than I will ever admit, thank you."_

_He stared at the sentences for a long time before deciding that he wasn't going to change them—wasn't going to think about them any more—and emailed them off to his editor, snapped the laptop shut, and stuffed it into his bag. Slinging the bag over the shoulder, he left some bills on the table and called out over his shoulder to the bartender as he left Cedar. "'Night, Kyle."_

_"'Night, Jess. See you later."_

Rory shuts the car door and turns towards the house, and as she turns towards him, Jess steps out of the shadows and slips through the gate towards her.

It's his turn.


End file.
